


you've got me grounded (why)

by fiddleogold_againstyoursoul



Series: the line between hate / love is drawn by our fingertips [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hamilton has an angry fanbase, Light Angst, M/M, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-10-31 08:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10895988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddleogold_againstyoursoul/pseuds/fiddleogold_againstyoursoul
Summary: Thomas is more involved than he'd like to admit in the long-time feud between head librarian Samuel Seabury and hothead Alexander Hamilton, and he's not about to complain. Not when it earns him almost coffee dates, midnight ramblings and occasional open smiles with the latter.AKA Library Wars. Fluff. Some crack. Just a feel good kinda one-shot with a little bit of angst, just because it's me.





	you've got me grounded (why)

_yo, nerds, check this out. aham V sseabury, going down rn. b. frank is livestreaming it on his fb._

Angelica's Tweet is accompanied by a picture of a tiny, angry man standing on a table, and a very put off looking librarian. Both appear to be shouting at each other. Retweets come streaming in.

_dude, no way._

_seabury's a hardass, hamilton's gonna get his ass handed to him._

_are you kidding? man's got it under control. seabury looks furious._

_i need to see this. holy shit._

And James's cheeky one:

_@tjefferson you could probably get there in time if you sprint (;_

Thomas sighs, hits Retweet on the original photograph, and makes a run for it. He pulls up Franklin's Live as he goes, and he wishes he hadn't, because he's huffing and puffing for breath in between bursts of laughter when he finally reaches.

 

* * *

 

He's sitting on his own outside the campus library. It's cold. It's also quiet, probably quieter than the library itself, which is ironic. He flips through his colour-coded study notes and waits.

One minute. Two.

The doors burst open right on time, and a frazzled looking Seabury corrals Hamilton out. A shove, and the latter topples onto the ground, papers flying; Seabury shoots Thomas a panicked look before banging the doors shut. 

There's the distinct sound of applause from inside. The awed kind. And someone booing, loudly.

_there we go._

Thomas hides a smile and reaches into his coat.

The ball of rage on the ground is speechless for a moment before he jumps up, looking like he might start frothing at the mouth any moment now.

He tries the doors, and is further enraged when they don't open.

'He can't fucking do that - hey! Let me in! It's a public space, asshole!'

'Maybe try not to piss off the librarian if you want to continue making your smartass speeches on tabletops,' Thomas remarks, dry, as he hits Snap on his phone camera. The shutter makes Hamilton turn. He looks angry: his eyebrows are set low on his forehead, and his lips twisted downwards. It's adorable. 'What did you argue about this time?'

'None of your fucking business, Jefferson.' 

Normally Thomas would flinch, open his mouth to retort; time spent alongside this angry little fuck, however, allows him to pick up that there's no real bite in it.

 _a lesson in analysis of a most peculiar specimen,_ he thinks.

Hamilton sits up and starts collecting his papers, dragging them towards his chest. He's not wearing a coat, and his cheeks are reddening in the cold. His ears are practically pink by now.Thomas sighs, taking off his coat and draping it around Hamilton's shoulders.

'You didn't wear a jacket out? In January?'

'Shut up,' Hamilton says, going a deeper shade of red, though he doesn't push the coat away, 'I wasn't cold. I'm not - cold. I'm fine.'

'Christ.' Thomas puts his warm vanilla drink on the ground beside Hamilton. The latter stares at him like he's grown a third eye. 'Maybe I don't wantcha to freeze, ya stupid fuck.'

'Wow, I'm touched.'

Hamilton takes a draft of the vanilla. His lips touch where Thomas did, which makes Thomas's insides squirm a little. It's stupid. He's stupid.

'I can't believe Seabury kicked me out of the fucking library,' Hamilton says, bringing Thomas back from his reverie. He hugs his papers closer to his chest, his breathing white puffs in the thin air. 'I'm going to kick his ass when I see him in the commons.'

'You'd kick his ass anyways.'

'True.'

'Burr'd bodily throw himself between the two of you's if it came to that.'

'Also true.'

Burr is a slimey fucker who can't handle conflict, but he's good for digging up dirt on people if you have a few spare twenties and or know about the pretty sophomore he's dating. Thomas is glad he's a trust fund baby  _with_ Theodosia's phone number.

But this isn't about Burr. He didn't run halfway across campus because Benjamin Franklin started livestreaming  _Burr's_ tantrum with Samuel Seabury, and he wanted to be here when it blew over.

_he owes both angie and ben one._

_(aw, it's nothing, hon, angelica says when he brings it up. just keeping my mutuals updated. xx._

_no one says xx in a verbal conversation, schuyler._

_no one before me, she replies. now go away, it's daily vlogging time and you're throwing off the lighting by standing in front of the window like that.)_

'Let's go get coffee,' Thomas says. Hamilton squints at him. 

'Yeah, okay.'

 

* * *

 

_order for thomas?_

_yeah, thanks, darlin'._

_your other drink will be ready in a few minutes. sorry, we're a little understaffed._

_no problem._

Thomas doesn't remember when he started being this friendly with Hamilton.

He does remember that they used to share a room, and while it was terrible and nerve-trying at first he eventually warmed up to waking up at shit-o-clock to the sound of Hamilton's mechanical keyboard clacking so hard he worried it'd break any moment.

_(will you go back to sleep?_

_no._

_will you go back to sleep if i look at that fucking blog post of yours, finally?_

_...maybe.)_

He does remember that their RA was a shithead who they got rid of quickly: between stashes of weed Thomas doesn't even want to know where Hamilton got and Thomas's secret-not-secret hoard of sleeping pills, the poor fuck didn't really stand a chance.

He does remember that one day he started buying Hamilton drinks and Hamilton started not rolling his eyes and flipping him off when he showed up with them.

Hamilton switched rooms the next year, which Thomas doesn't know how to feel about. On one hand, he finally moved in with childhood friend and fellow angry Southerner Jimmy; on the other, there's a sense of loss that sticks in his stomach and won't go, and it fucking sucks.

So yeah, fuck feelings.

'I'm gonna egg George King's dorm with Laurens and co. tonight,' Hamilton says, looking up from his phone when Thomas returns with their coffee. His cheeks are no longer red in the warmth of the cafe, though he does look breathless still. 'He lives with Seabury, y'know.You wanna come?'

'Lovely, but I'll have to pass. I'm sure Washington will dad-face you into inexistence when he hears.'

Washington has a particular facial expression that can cow a grown man into submission. Thomas tries not to think of it as the  _daddy_ face too much. He's confused enough about his sexuality as it is already without wanting to fuck his professor.

'He won't.'

Hamilton's face is grim. Thomas wants to laugh. Instead he takes a long draft from his machiatto and studies the way the feeble light from outside dances over Hamilton's cheekbones. He doesn't remember when he started feeling these...well, feelings, for Hamilton.

He doesn't think he cares.

 

* * *

 

_ALEXANDER HAMILTON IS NOT PERMITTED BACK INTO THE LIBRARY. I REPEAT, DO NOT LET ALEXANDER HAMILTON BACK INTO THE LIBRARY._

Thomas hides a grin and thanks Burr for the forwarded email. Seems like Seabury's really got a taste for thrill.

 _it's not my business,_ he thinks, but he forwards it to Hamilton anyways.

The next day, Samuel Seabury has a whole new blog post dedicated to him on  _smallangrylawstudent.blogspot.com._

The introduction of other students into the long since ongoing Library Wars ensues not long after.

 

* * *

 

'This is terrible,' Hamilton grouses, putting down his cup. 'You're terrible.'

'Okay, princess. I didn't know you liked your coffees teeth-rottingly sweet, sorry.'

Hamilton frowns at him. He's got ink smudged over his nose, and Thomas wonders if he knows how silly he looks. Not adorable, certainly. Not at all. 

'Thank you. I guess.'

'Ya guess?'

'For the coffee,' Hamilton says, as if that needed clarification. 'And your stupid coat. Which smells, by the way, of your cologne. Which smells like cat pi -'

'I think I get it, darlin'.'

'Good. But thank you, really.'

Hamilton's grin is genuine. Thomas smiles back.

 

* * *

 

 _thomas,_ Burr begs,  _please ask alex to lay off samuel's case, the poor boy is practically pulling all his hair out. he's gotten angry letters and someone's broken a library window with a rock that has a note tied to it reading: let alexander hamilton back into the library or else._

_or else what?_

_he didn't really ask._  Thomas can hear Burr's eyes rolling. the _window had to be repaired, but then they started reordering the shelves in protest. i found a copy of the third harry potter book under the religion section._

 _that's too bad,_  Thomas types back, _it really is._

_thomas, please._

_i don't control hamilton, burr. or his rabid fans, for the matter. (and thank God for that.) i wish seabury the best of luck, and advise you step away from your position as diplomat on his end before they come for you, too. hamilton's got about four pages worth of vitriole on your first meeting alone._

_sweet jesus._

 

* * *

 

'Burr asks you to tone it down,' Thomas says, as Hamilton tacks up the last of his posters. It's a full, blown up picture of Samuel Seabury's stupid mug, captioned  _WILL YOU LET THIS LIVING VIOLATION OF FREE SPEECH STAND?_ in bold, red font. 'Evidently your fans are becoming scary.'

'I don't have fans. Just readers.'

'Pretty loyal, freaky ones.'

'I'd say,' Laurens nods, stepping back to survey their work. A block away, Lafayette and Mulligan do the same. They've covered the entire campus on foot and caffeine alone. It'd be impressive if it weren't so damn terrifying.

'Hey, I just write shit. What they want to do with it is up to them.' 

Thomas does notice a shit-eating grin tugging at the corners of Hamilton's mouth, though, and a shudder runs through him as he suppresses the urge to chase it with a kiss.

 _i tried,_ he shoots off at Burr. A sigh emoji comes back.

 

* * *

 

 _BREAKING NEWS: someone's defacing all of aham's posters across campus._ Angie's evidence is a photograph of crudely drawn dicks and large twirly moustaches over Seabury's faces in the posters. Thomas bites down on a laugh and checks to see if Washington has noticed him staring at his phone. Not yet.

 _@frenchlaffytaffy,_ he types,  _ya ain't slick._

Lafayette responds with a wink emoji. 

Thomas pockets his phone and resumes paying attention to the lecture. Hamilton's staring at him from the side, no doubt wondering what the fuck is going on.

 _Tell ya later,_ he mouths.

 

* * *

 

 

 _he'll hate this,_ Burr types.  _sorry._

_oh, christ on a stick._

_good luck on breaking the news._

_shut up, burr._

 

* * *

 

 

'Hey, uh, darlin'.' 

Hamilton looks up from his laptop, strands of hair framing his face. Thomas freezes. He looks like he hasn't gotten a wink of sleep since he was first born, and Hamilton's young, but not young enough for that.

'Something you wanted?'

Nah, not wanted. He hesitates.

'- Seabury reported your little shenanigan with the posters to the student council. They had them removed until they could decide how to deal with them. But most likely, they ain't gonna be back up anytime soon.'

A crease appears between Hamilton's eyebrows.

'It wasn't hate speech, or a witch hunt, or -'

'It damn near seems like a witch hunt, but I have to agree with y'all: Seabury's being unreasonable. Unfortunately, he does reserve the right to keep you out of the library. Stupidly.'

Hamilton breathes out an angry little puff of air through pursed lips. 

_god, do i want to kiss those._

'That's it, then,' he says, mournfully, 'we've got nothing else. He's won.'

'He ain't won shit, honey.'

He still looks dejected. Without thinking about it, Thomas has crossed the room. His fingers curl around Hamilton's shoulder: it's so tense he's startled at first.

'What're you doing,' Hamilton says, but it's weak. Thomas bites his lip. Then he turns Hamilton's chin upwards and kisses him lightly on the lips.

A moment passes. And then Hamilton kisses back.

 

* * *

 

 _alexander hamilton declares a peace treaty outside the campus library,_ Franklin's most recent Tweet reads. Again accompanied by a picture of Hamilton scrambling onto a stool and holding up a sign that reads:  _YOU'RE STILL A DUMBFUCK, BUT I RECOGNISE YOUR AUTHORITY AS ONE._

Thomas chuckles and hits Retweet. James shoots him a knowing look from across their room, and he flips him the bird.

 _plan to egg king's walls back on,_ Hamilton messages. _tonight. you can swing by if you'd like, but i'd rather you see it for yourself next morning._  Thomas sighs. He doesn't tell him to not do it, though. King is an insufferable bastard, and Seabury needs to be knocked down a peg or two.

 

* * *

 

Thomas wakes up at ass o'clock and realises he fucking hates his ringtone. James set it for him sometime back, a terrible kind of screeching from some horror video game that drills straight through his head. Said James is shifting in his own bed now, groaning. Serves him fucking right. He drags his blasted phone closer and answers it.

'Hello?'

'You awake?'

Hamilton. There's a base line pounding in the background, like he's at a club. Thomas blinks the bleariness away, sitting up and patting his bedside for his glasses. He can't be bothered with his contacts right now.

'I am now.'

'Come over?'

He inwardly sighs, but is already pushing back the covers anyways. 'It's not eggs on King's walls, right? Don't wanna be caught up with that shit.'

'Nah, we didn't do that tonight. Rescheduled.'

He really doesn't wanna know why.

'Great. Give me ten minutes, tops.'

Thomas fumbles for the light, eventually finding it and switching it on, and James groans louder. 'Jesus fuck, Tommy, I don't care which hottie just called you at the crack of Satan's ass, turn off the light.'

'I'm gonna, just a mo.'

He grabs his coat and shrugs it on, feet catching on the carpet. 

'It's Hamilton, isn't it?'

Thomas doesn't answer, opting instead to slide his feet into his sneakers and start lacing them up. James has sat up, looking sleepy.

'C'mon, Tom.'

'Shut up, Jimmy.' He turns off the light and stands there in the darkness, for a moment losing sense of where he is and why. Then he blows a kiss to where he thinks James's bed is, and crawls out of the window.

The landing isn't that bad: slide, roll. It's the drop that's the worst, low as it is - you can't tell if you're going to slip and break your neck or make it out with only bruised knees, in the darkness Either way, it's scary as fuck.

Huh. Now there's a metaphor.

Thomas takes a moment to recover from it, then shuffles along the shrubbery to Hamilton's dorm.

 

* * *

 

There's a party going on in the room two doors beside Hamilton's, which explains the pounding base line. The door is open, and drunk college kids spill out, holding red paper cups and laughing obnoxiously over EDM. Thomas knocks on Hamilton's door, and it opens just a crack.

'Party's next door,' Mulligan says.

'I'm here for Hamilton.'

'Huh. Good answer.'

Thomas steps in, and Hamilton is sitting upright in bed, hair loose and ruffled, gaze vacant. It flickers over Thomas before seeming to register him.

'Oh, you made it.'

'In seven minutes, no less.'

'Amazing,' Hamilton says, lips curling into a smile. 'Herc, you can go if you'd like, I'll be fine. Laf's waiting.'

'You're sure?' Mulligan glances at Thomas, which offends him a little. 'I can stay, if you need. The party won't miss me.' To be fair, Thomas can't blame him; he's pretty damn untrustable. Untrustworthy? _Merde,_ he can't English at this time of day. Night. No, fuck, it's actually the day, now.

'I'll be fine.'

'Okay, well, call us.'

He disappears out the door, and Thomas sits down on the bed next to Hamilton. It creaks under his weight, and then settles. 

The room is dim. A nightlight glows on Hamilton's desk, presumably, because Thomas recognises that battered up laptop and the scattered stationery.

'What didja want, again?'

'Just your company, actually.'

Hamilton blinks at him, a little sheepish. 'Though we could go over the text Washington set us, if you want. It's late, and the party hasn't stopped, and I can't go to sleep. It's fucking stupid.'

'Oh.'

He sits there in silence, for a while.

Hamilton just wanted his company. He didn't know such a request existed. Could exist.

'Hey,' Hamilton says, prodding at his side, 'stop looking like that. You can go back if you're uncomfortable, or sleepy, or anything.'

'I'm cold, how bout that?'

'The heater's broken.' A dent appears in Hamilton's forehead. Thomas wants to kiss that furrow between his eyebrows. 'I'm sorry, princess. Not all of us have amazing heating blankets or whatever.'

'Shut up, you fuck.'

He crawls into Hamilton's blankets, and Hamilton seems to want to protest, but he doesn't say anything. Thomas's heart rabbits in his chest as he exhales, something that rattles deep in his ribcage. 

'You called me cos you can't sleep.'

'Yeah, I know you're not gonna let me hear the end of this one.' Hamilton's eyes glow in the dim light. 'Alexander Hamilton  _can't sleep._ Alexander Hamilton  _distressed and in disarray.'_

'Alexander with no one else to turn to.'

Hamilton smiles.

_oh, wow, that hurts._

Thomas kind of regrets burrowing under here. Hamilton radiates a sort of angry warmth, but then again his own bed is pretty toasty and there's no awkward gay feelings hanging in the air between his pillows and him there. Fuck that, awkward gay feelings are everywhere. He tries not to breathe too loudly, wonders if Hamilton can feel his heartbeat through the space between them. There's silence for a while. Has he fallen asleep?

'- hey, Jefferson?'

'Yes,  _Hamilton?'_

He doesn't know why they aren't on a first name basis yet. He reckons it's because they're both stupid, stubborn cunts. 

'Thanks for coming over,' Hamilton says, soft and sleepy. Thomas wants to say something. He doesn't know what it is. He tries to think of it, catch the tail end of the train of thought, but there's a fuzziness already forming inside of his head that's numbing every one of his senses. His eyelids feel too heavy. Hamilton's sheets smell like him, like ink and old books and something like home. Even though Thomas's home is far away from here, even though Hamilton's doesn't seem to exist beyond his close circle of friends and the scraps of his mother's letters he hoards.

Thomas shifts in closer, and this time it's Hamilton who kisses first. They fall asleep tangled up in each other, hearts slowed and breathing steady.

 

* * *

 

hercules comes in at five am, armed with a flashlight and rubber shoes. he tells madison to wait outside, that thomas is probably fine, and unlocks his room door. he walks into the room. 

the nightlight's still on. it's glowing, soft and warm.

hercules takes one look at the pair sprawled over hamilton's bed, tangled in the sheets together, and silently removes himself from the room.

madison seems to understand.

he's yelling something about a bet won.

 

* * *

 

Thomas feels his lashes flutter as consciousness seizes him. It's a Saturday, he thinks, there aren't any classes and he can take a break for  _once, goddamn it, Thomas, you're wearing yourself out_ and then he opens his eyes fully and has to stifle the sound of surprise buried in his throat.

His nose is pressed into loose, soft dark hair that smells like shampoo he remembers on a shelf they used to share. Hamilton's frame is small, but not delicate, just enough shape to form a little frame for Thomas's body to fit itself around. His hands are in Hamilton's hair, his feet caught between an ankle and the bedspread, and he's giddy with it. Swallowing, he untangles his fingers from the smooth dark locks and places his hands on his chest.

His heart is pounding. His palms are sweaty.

'Oh,' he says, softly. 

Hamilton stirs. He cracks open a sleepy eye, the bag under it dark and deep. 

'Oh. Morning.'

Thomas thinks he can settle with this.

 

* * *

 

The lecture's just about wrapped up. Hamilton is still furiously covering his battered, barely-there notebook with scribbled notes, and Thomas just grins. Their classmates pack up and leave, barely noticing them at all. 

'You wanna go get coffee?'

Hamilton puts down the pen. He glances up, brushing a strand of flyaway hair behind his ear, and sticks his lower lip out.

'Only if you promise to borrow a book from the library for me.'

'About that, Hamilton,' Washington says, somehow having heard them from all the way in front of the room, 'I pulled some strings for you. As your homework comprises reading material outside your textbooks, I have requested that Seabury let all of my students in, no questions asked. Though do try not to gloat too much about it, there's not much my words can do when you're so determined to get yourself kicked out.'

Thomas laughs. It bursts out of him in little chuckles before he's doubled over, chest and shoulders heaving. Hamilton looks like a kid on Christmas day.

'Gee, thank you, sir!'

'Jefferson,' Washington says, raising an eyebrow at him. 'See that he doesn't do anything stupid again.'

'No promises, sir.'

Hamilton frowns at both of them.

 

* * *

 

It's a pleasant arrangement. Hamilton and Seabury stare daggers at each other whenever he goes to check in or out books, or when they happen to catch each other's glances from across the room, and Thomas grabs hold of Hamilton's arm before he can dart over to the counter and say something too smart.

'I've become a babysitter,' he says, when one day he has Hamilton in a particularly tight clamp. Seabury has a T-shirt on that says  _CONSTITUTION CAN KISS MY ASS,_ and Hamilton's jaw is clenched so tight he fears his teeth will just pop out of his mouth. 'Here's somethin' for incentive, I'll only kiss you if you can finish this text by today.'

Hamilton frowns at him.

'I could finish this in fifteen minutes.'

'Show me, darlin'.'

He does, and gets his kiss after all.

The Library Wars are back. But the trending tweets of Thomas's lips pressed gently to Hamilton's and the smitten look in their eyes when they pull away seem to matter more to the rest of the campus, especially with people like Angelica and Benjamin fanning the flames.

 _i know what's his favourite type of flowers,_ Burr texts.  _message me for more intel._

_shut up, burr._

**Author's Note:**

> xx thanks for reading, loves.


End file.
